"Who are those people?" the Colonel asked. "Rather a queer combination, aren't they?"
"The man is Bentham, the lawyer," Wrayson answered. His eyes were fixed upon the lady, who seemed not at all indisposed to become the object of any stray attention.
"That Bentham!" the Colonel repeated, under his breath. "But what on earth—where the mischief could he pick up a companion like that?"
Wrayson scarcely heard him. He had withdrawn his eyes from the lady with an effort.
"I have seen that woman somewhere," he said thoughtfully—"somewhere where she seemed quite as much out of place as she does here. Lately, too."
"H'm!" the Colonel remarked, leaning back in his chair to allow the waiter to serve him. "She's not the sort of person you'd be likely to forget either, is she?"
"And, by Heavens, I haven't!" Wrayson declared, suddenly laying down his knife and fork. "I remember her now. It was at the inquest—Barnes' inquest. She was one of the two women at whose flat he called on his way home. What on earth is Bentham doing with her?"
"You think," the Colonel remarked quietly, "that there is some connection———"
"Of course there is," Wrayson interrupted. "Does that old fossil look like the sort to take such a creature about for nothing? Colonel, he doesn't know himself—where those securities are! He's brought that woman here to pump her!"
The Colonel passed his hand across his forehead.
"I am getting a little confused," he murmured.
